A questionable Present
by MrsThreepwood
Summary: John receives a birthday present by his flatmate and finds it "a bit not good". Slash, lots of man on man action and BDSM. If this kind of stuff disturbs you, don't read it. ;)
1. Chapter 1

When Dr. John Hamish Watson had moved in with William Sherlock Scott Holmes, there were a lot of things the two men didn't know about each other. One example being their full names.

While this puzzle took it's time to be solved by both sides, other quirks and habits were pretty obvious.

There was no need to be a brilliant consulting detective to deduce Sherlock wasn't into trivial festivities. Surely, he did attend the annual Christmas party, but to be fair there were only a few things in the world he would reject when it came to making Mrs. Hudson happy.

In the end it was no surprise for John when he didn't receive any kind of birthday presents or even a card by his flatmate. The man had saved his life on several occasions and John thought that this was a better gift than a new cup or book anyway.

Of course things had dramatically changed in the time he had lived with Mary. There had been plenty of presents, a huge self made birthday-cake, balloons and most of his friends at the surprise-party she had organised. Mary. Or whatever her real name was. And whoever the real father of the girl was, who was now a little more than one year old. John had felt from the start that there was something wrong with his daughter and a paternity test had brought the devastating truth, that her name and past weren't the only thing his now ex-wife had lied about.

The night John had waited in the living room of 221B Baker Street with only his most important stuff crammed into three suitcases, he had played out several scenarios of how Sherlock would react in his mind. His best friend simply patting him sympathetically on the shoulder, mumbling a low but genuinely comforting "Welcome home." wasn't one of them though. And still that was exactly what Sherlock had done. No questions, no snarky remarks, not even a "Of course I knew it wasn't yours." (though John was sure Sherlock had deduced this as well). They got back to their old routines in a couple of days and it was almost like Mary never had been a part of his life. There would be emotional scars on John's side as well as very physical and visible ones on Sherlock's torso, but time would heal them both, the doctor reminded himself everyday.

So when on the morning of his 38th Birthday he got a simple but oh so out of character text by Sherlock, John couldn't stop himself from grinning. Maybe he had indeed changed the man to be a more... well... human human being.

_Happy Birthday, John. I'm off to NSY. Present is on the coffee table. - SH_

John turned his gaze into another direction when he made his way into the bathroom to take a shower and shave. There was no way he would spoil himself the surprise of what Sherlock had actually bought him.

Letting the razor glide softly over his chin, the line "I prefer my doctors clean-shaven" suddenly popped into his mind, dismissed in an instant by his very own "I don't shave for Sherlock Holmes." Though it was somehow a reminder of Mary as well, he more chuckled at the thought of the endless little banters he had with Sherlock, almost cutting himself with the blade in his hands.

A dark pair of jeans and his blue striped jumper clung softly to John's still lightly wet body. After all he couldn't get himself out of the shower and into his clothes fast enough anyway and he practically rushed over to the living room.

The present was very visible on the coffee table, a small card dangling from the handle. A handle that belonged to a cane.

John's eyes widened at the view. Sure, it was a beautiful piece, entirely made out of dark wood (rosewood he would learn later) with small polished metal rings and a nicely curved handle. Just below this handle, there was something engraved into the bigger metal ring.

"Property of Dr. John H. Watson"

At least Sherlock had been decent enough not to mention his full middle name. But still – a bloody cane?

John's limp had been back shortly after he left Mary and her child but he certainly didn't need a cane right now. And then John suddenly realized, why Sherlock had chosen this particular present...

The door swung open and Sherlock entered the room, a bright smile beaming on his face.

"Oh, you've already found your present! You like it?", he said at the view of John twirling the piece of wood in his hands.

"This... this is a bit not good, Sherlock."

"Care to elaborate?"

"Okay, I get it. Yes, I am a bit older than you are. Ha ha. Very funny."

"John, I don't think..."

"What's next? A gift card for prescription glasses? A container for dentures?"

"Let me explain, will you?"

"Oh, yeah, go on. Make fun of me on my birthday."

Sherlock let out a long sigh, dropping into his chair and gesturing for John to sit down as well. When his flatmate seemed finally to have cooled down a bit, the detective opened his mouth.

"This present. It's actually not for you alone."

"Of course. Why would you get me a present anyway?"

Ignoring this comment, Sherlock went on.

"Have you ever heard of masochists? People liking to... well, get hurt?"

John knitted his brows.

"Yes. And...?"

"Coincidentally, I am being one of them."

"You? Uhm. Okay. But what does it..."

"I want you to use it on me. The cane. Your old one wasn't very aesthetically pleasing, so I got you that one."

"Wait. What? You want me to do what...? To hit you with the cane?"

"Yes."

"Sherlock, you're... I don't even know what to say. But that's too much. We're flatmates and yes, you still are my best friend. But. Borders, Sherlock, borders. You have to learn about them. Seriously. This is just ridiculous!"

With that John rushed off into his bedroom, leaving a confused Sherlock behind.

Two days they haven't spoken a word to each other. There had been a small birthday gathering at a pub (which Sherlock – of course – hadn't attended) and the next day was stuffed with patients in the clinic for John and a rather interesting case for Sherlock.

Almost 48 hours after receiving the questionable gift, John padded down with bare feet into the living room, finding his flatmate in the usual "sulking detective" position on the sofa.

"Sherlock?"

"Mh."

"We need to talk."

A bunch of black curls and pyjama pants and nicotine patches unwrapped itself, until Sherlock was finally sitting upright.

"What is it then, John?"

"Well... uhm. Have you ever heard of sadists? You know, people liking to..."

"too hurt other people. I'm familiar with the term, yes. Care to tell me, why you are asking me this?"

John cleared his throat several times before he was able to look Sherlock directly into the eyes.

"Coincidentally, I am being one of them."


	2. Chapter 2

They've sat in silence for about two hours, the cane resting peacefully between them on the coffee table. The sun was slowly setting outside and John held the irrational and absurd hope, that darkness would make the whole thing way less awkward. He soon came to realize that being about to spank your flatmate with a cane he gave to you as a birthday present would probably always rise awkward feelings in most people and especially in him – Mr. "not gay" himself.

"What does it do to you?"

"Well, it hurts, if done correctly."

"I know. What I care about is – what does getting hurt do to you? Do you simply get off on it?"

"Don't be ridiculous, John. I wouldn't participate in this kind of action for the pleasure of physical satisfaction alone. It helps me think. Most of the time it's like a spring-cleaning for my mind palace."

"Is it important to you who hurts you? Or could anybody do it?"

"I have to trust the person in some way. And it happens you're the second person I've ever met whom I'd trust with this matter."

"Who was the first one?"

"Mycroft."

"Oh. I see."

Silence filled the room for the second time when John's thoughts drifted off, imagining Mycroft hitting and spanking a younger version of Sherlock. It was a rather disturbing image.

"Please don't think about it."

"Are you reading my mind now as well?"

"Just... just tell me whether you're in or not."

"How about sex?"

"I don't need it, if you don't want to."

"So I'll just spank you and that's it?"

"Do you want to have sex with me?"

"Christ, Sherlock. I don't know. Honestly, I have no idea what we're doing here."

"Discussing how you would like to spank me and what it includes – at least that's what I have in mind now."

"Do you consider yourself as a plain masochist or are you submissive as well?"

"Both. With the right person, of course."

"And you think I would be the right person?"

"Definitely."

It had an almost ironic touch when John suddenly fell into Sherlock's usual thinking-pose: his fingers steepled in front of his face, the gaze drifting off into the distance.

Living with Sherlock had always been far away from anything he would consider as normal and boundaries usually meant nothing to the lanky detective. But John knew, crossing this line meant there was no going back. It wasn't something you could ignore later on.

"I see. So it shall be."

"What do you...?"

John rose to his feet with his gaze fixed on Sherlock's eyes. The last chance to call the whole thing off, to regard it as a joke and eventually tell the whole story drunkenly on a Christmas party. He could almost hear the conversation in his head. 'Ah, do you... do you remember Sherlock? The one time we almost shagged each other?', followed by giggles.

He gathered all his strength before taking the cane and turning into the direction of the stairs.

"I will go to my room now, Sherlock. If you're absolutely sure you want this – and I tell you, you need to be as sure as it gets – you will take a shower now and then come to me. You may still wear your pants but that's it. If you won't come, I will forget the whole thing, we won't speak about it again."

Almost reaching the first step of the stairs, he turned around one last time.

"You've got 15 minutes."

* * *

Sherlock rushed into the shower, all kinds of thoughts popping up in his head. There was no need to be nervous, he told himself. Just a favour he asked from his best (and only) friend. He needed something, John was willing to give it. So why did his hands tremble slightly, when he turned on the water?

Internally he was counting the seconds he took for showering, washing his hair, picking the right pants (he went for plain black ones) and leaving for John's room. There was no need to have a look at the clock in their shared living room for Sherlock knew for sure there were exactly 13 minutes and 47 seconds gone since John took the stairs to his room.

Still musing over all the things that could possibly go wrong - which weren't too many as he saw it – Sherlock took two steps at a time, not wanting to wait any longer. His mind palace really needed to be cleaned...

* * *

Insecurity spread in John's stomach after he made himself comfortable on top of the covers of his bed. Had Sherlock really meant what he said? Did his flatmate think the whole story through at all? Or was it another of his experiments after all – just testing what he could John to do, how far he could push his borders?

John chewed on his lower lip, his grip still tight on the cane. There was no need in denying all the _definitely gay_ thoughts he had in the last couple of years. To be fair Sherlock didn't make it easy for him to ignore his slightly bisexual side with his dancing around the flat, dressed in only a sheet or - which was even worse - in one of those tight shirts.

More than 13 minutes have passed when John glanced at his watch for the first time. He had heard the shower being turned on and off, but maybe Sherlock had made up his mind afterwards, the idea washed away by hot water and soap.

Probably it was only for the best if Sherlock didn't turn up, they had a solid friendship after all and such things were more precious than plain sex. But John had the urgent need to act on his sadistic side, which he hadn't been able to do for about five years now.

Just when he was going from relief to frustration in his mind, the door to his room opened with a soft creak.

Standing in the doorway was Sherlock, dressed in black pants that didn't leave too much room for his imagination and with his dark curls still wet from the shower.

His voice sounded hoarse when Sherlock muttered the last words before their friendship changed into something that neither of them expected in the first place.

"I'm ready. Please use me."


	3. Chapter 3

The sight of Sherlock bending over the edge of a bed, the long and slender body only clad in oh-so-tight black pants, would be breathtaking for most people. For John Watson it was more than that. Though there was a wave of pure and almost brute arousal washing through him within the first seconds, it was followed immediately by a feeling of a completely different nature.

Living with Sherlock had earned him a special place in the detective's life for sure since there weren't too many people who would put up with loud violin playing at 3 in the morning, all existing kinds of mould spreading in the kitchen – some for experiments, some simply because both of them forgot to do the dishes – and the chances of being dragged out to solve a case of murder in the middle of the night.

John was willing to do so though and that made Sherlock trust him after all – trust him even so much, that the doctor was standing behind his now-more-than-flatmate, holding a cane in his hand, ready to hit.

There was no need to ask again whether Sherlock was really ready for this. John had got his answer a few minutes ago when Sherlock had entered his room with a look of submission in his stormy eyes.

* * *

The first hit was gentle, hardly more than a light pat on the buttocks. And yet it provoked a reaction stunning John to no end.

Sherlock was whimpering. The most composed and rational man in the world was made into a I begging, whimpering and submissive mess within a few seconds and by only one simple beating with a cane.

Now John's libido was definitely interested in the whole process, though the blond man was able to get his thoughts together for a final question.

"Before I really start with... this. Is there anything else I need to know?"

Sherlock hesitated. Giving John the ability to hurt him physically was one thing to do, but the access to his mind was another level.

"I won't be able to lie."

"So if I ask you something..."

"I will tell the truth. Feel free to use this information whichever way you want."

'This could get very interesting after all', John thought to himself before hitting Sherlock the second time, this blow being definitely harder and more serious.

Sherlock shoved some of the blanket into his own mouth to muffle the sound of his cries.

"No, don't do that. I need to hear you. And I might want to ask you something."

"Mhphfff... sorry."

The doctor took great care in choosing the right places to hit. So far he only went for the fleshiest parts of Sherlock's thighs, right on and below his butt. Well, if there was something you could call "fleshy" on the detective after all.  
John knew that the skin would be far more sensitive the further he would hit towards the hollow of the knee of the inside of the thighs. A sadistic grin spread on his face, when he swung his cane down to the pale skin, just a few inches below that glorious arse.

"Fuck, John..."

"I would say I'm sorry I've hurt you – but I'm not a man of lies."

Without further warning a series of blows rained down onto Sherlock's skin. Some of them were lighter, just to give him a chance to catch his breath, others were serious and made him cry out loud in pain and pleasure at the same time.

John realized that Sherlock had given him quite a special cane. It was very light, probably hollow, so he could swing it with more force than a real one. Thinking of it, the cane would be quite useless to put weight on; in fact it was more than some kind of sextoy.

That bastard. Sherlock had really given him a sextoy as a present. There had to be some punishment for this kind of behaviour.

"Where did you buy the cane?"

"Excuse me?"

THUD. The blow was the hardest one so far, almost breaking Sherlock's skin.

"I asked you a question. The cane. Where did you buy it?"

"A small shop. Irene Adler gave me the address."

"Good boy."

With his free hand, John caressed softly the red streaks and spots on Sherlock's backside. They would be visible for days, John knew that and his cock definitely approved the thought of marking the territory he later would claim completely.

"What did you think of when you bought it?", John asked, his fingers running along the seam of the black pants.

"How it would feel when you would use it on me."

"Did that thought make you hard?"

"Yes."

"Take off your pants. Now."

Sherlock did as he was told and was back kneeling on the bed without losing too much time.

The sight of the now fully exposed butt with the still so tight hole made John's mouth go dry.

Still he found his composure again and went on with the caning, making a point of decorating the buttocks just as much with red marks as the thighs.

Bobbing in time with the hits was Sherlock's hard cock. John had to admit he thought of it to be bigger but it was actually a nice surprise to see it wasn't too huge and would probably fit nicely into his ass and mouth.

Which brought another question to his mind.

"Are you a virgin?"

"No."

"Mycroft?"

"WHAT? No. Sebastian Wilkes."

"In university?"

"Yes."

"Any other experience?"

"No."

At this point John discovered a new kink about himself. He actually liked the idea of being only the second person in Sherlock's life the detective would get intimate with. And the first one who would combine spanking and sex.

"John?"

"Yes?"

"Turn the handle."

Sherlock's voice was low. Barely audible over his rough breathing and John had to strain to get the words right.

"The door handle?"

"No. The cane. Just twist it at the the silver band with the engraving."

A very confused John stared at the cane he was holding. Still he did was Sherlock told him and was surprised to see the cane was divisible into two parts. Yet one part was definitely more interesting than the other one.

There was a dildo. Linked to the handle was a fucking black and long dildo, which was concealed by the other half of the cane the whole time. Sure, it wasn't too thick, it had to fit into the cane after all, but it had a nice curvy shape and would definitely do it's job.

"You...", began John.

"Yes, I have planned this. Yes, when I said 'use it on me', I meant this part as well."

"You... little... slut."

"I am. And just like the engraving says, I'm all yours. I'm your property."

All hints of softness vanished from John's voice.

"Oh, I will show you what it means to be my property."


End file.
